She is the Sunlight
by Mich22
Summary: Jane and Rochester had their love story, but few realize that there's a story within theirs that's still waiting to be told. The story of St. John Rivers and Rosamond Oliver.


What a perfectly horrid day to be in town.

Much too hot. An insufferable crowd. And just to be galavanting in public no less. Absolutely no worthy purpose whatsoever! He had much more important work to be doing; he hadn't the time for any of this foolishness!

St. John Rivers tugged uncomfortably at his wilting collar. Not only was the scorching afternoon sun just reaching its peak in the sky but the air seemed to be thick with rising dust. Oh yes, the city atmosphere was much different than their quaint country home. The sharp calls of beckoning vendors. The speeding carriages dashing by. To be in the city was to be covered by a blanket of noise. The man was caught in a situation where he was less than happily accompanying his two oh-so-darling sisters, Diana and Mary, in their trip to town. He grumbled inwardly to himself, but otherwise showed no visible signs of his dispirited sentiments. If anything, one had to admire that the man was bred with a devotion to those of his own kin.

Now, one must understand, St. John was a man of a fine background and considerable circumstance. He lived humbly with his sisters, well within their family's means, though their fortune was meager just as most of the populace in England. Not only were all the members of the Rivers family were graced with natural wit and intelligence, but St. John in particular, looked as if he was Greek statue of a God come to life. Features made of marble, a strong jaw, and deep blue eyes, they were all fortune characteristics that were uniquely his. So with this fair complexion, unmatched intellect, and the means to live comfortably, one would think that St. John should want for nothing.

That is a mistake.

Though he schooled well, showing an incredible perseverance, and determination in his work, he never had a particular fondness for one subject over any other. A Jack of All Trades in the worst possible way, for he never experienced a passion for anything. Even as a child, his life was tinted in the coolness of grey, and all that was needed to move him was a strong force.

That force just happened to be the call of religion.

It seemed to be the only logical, and sensible way to live life, and the child clung to it immediately. From the way he toiled for it, some might have said that this was his passion but, if it was, it was passion without heart. Perhaps it was then that he lost his remaining chances to find that elusive passion; because his mind had been closed by what he clung onto. He clung to it because it was rational, not because he felt that ardent emotional affinity towards it. Not the way a musician would see their instrument, but in the way a scientist would look at a test subject. Dedicated, and persevering yet...detached.

Always detached.

And so eventually, that child grew into that same cold man that walked the streets with his sisters.

St. John held out his arm, effectively stopping his sisters from crossing the bustling streets. He sighed. Really, if they must go 'sight-seeing', the least they could do was show a little prudence. So as St. John waited to deem it safe for his family to cross, his eyes flitted around aimless among the crowd on the opposite walkway.

And what he would spot would forever mark his life.

A girl. Long golden locks which spun into gentle ringlets at the ends. Her complexion was so fair, yet roses seemed to bloom on her cheeks, and delicate petals graced her lips. Her gown was only of simple white, but it could not have suited her more. She walked with a tender, effortless grace, and everyone that met her, came out for the better, for she offered all she passed, a kind word, a glowing smile, or a compassionate touch. Hers was not an arrogant beauty, but one of purity and sweetness.

And while she was present, to St. John, all else in the world was silent.

St. John felt the color leave his own cheeks, his head unconsciously turning to follow her footsteps. The sun's golden rays seemed dulled in comparison to her hair. How could he have known what red was until he saw how red her lips were on this very day? Sudden weakness took him, his hands shook, his chest tight; it was such an unfamiliar feeling to him, every fibre in his being wanted to pull him closer to her. And yet, his feet felt firmly planted on the ground, he hadn't the slight ide-

"St. John?" Diana waved at the stone man, trying to catch his attention. The carriages had stopped to let them pass. But at seeing his expression, a little smile passed onto her lips, "Why, you look positively petrified!"

The man looked at Diana, barely realizing it was his sister, before quickly looking back across the street to where he last saw that girl. He desperately scanned through the thick crowd, but in vain.

She was gone.

With this realization, he regained his sense a little, and with much effort took ahold of his composure. He said nothing, swallowed hard and forced a smile to his sister to assure her he was alright. And so they crossed the street without another word, and he tried to advance the trip as if nothing had happened.

But it had, and St. John was visibly affected. His sisters could not gather his attention after that, his color did not return to his face, and his eyes were always spent searching for something in the distance.

Everything he had known shook and collapsed under his feet. For once, his mind was faltering under his heart. He had finally found what true passion was, after all these years. To warm and brighten this world that was otherwise so cold. He had found the sunlight to pierce through his blinding grey veil..

And that sunlight was Miss Rosamond Oliver.


End file.
